


No Time to Ask Questions

by lionessvalenti



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Time, Loneliness, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris goes home with the Sheriff after a night at the bar, but there's still the morning after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Time to Ask Questions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SevenCorvus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevenCorvus/gifts).



It began in a bar, like so many of these stories do. Chris just happened to glance down the length of the bar and saw Sheriff Stilinski with a glass of Jack next to an empty stool. He joined the Sheriff with his own whiskey soda and struck up conversation.

It was easy, conversation lubricated by alcohol and everything they had in common. Teenage kids, widowers, and that time they almost died together.

Chris wasn't sure how drunk the Sheriff was, but his words were clear, not slurred like they had been a moment before, when he touched Chris on the jaw, in that space between cheek and neck, and said, "My house is empty tonight."

Chris didn't think. He reached into his pockets for his keys and said, "I'll drive."

In the house, they tore at each others' clothes, their mouths meeting for rough whiskey kisses. The wind was knocked from Chris' chest as he fell back on the bed, the full weight of the Sheriff falling on top of him, but that only stopped him for a moment, and he kissed again, hungry and biting.

"I haven't been with anyone since my wife," Chris said as his jeans were opened. He didn't know why he said it, but he just felt like it needed to be said. As explanation, but too short because he never said more than necessary. Or maybe it was defensive. He could never tell when he was being defensive.

The Sheriff looked up and Chris realized he'd never caught the man's name though everything, but this wasn't the time to ask. "There's been too many for me," he said huskily. "Too many nights like this one."

They stared into each others' eyes and the Sheriff looked so sad and lost, that for a second, Chris was afraid he'd killed it with honesty, but then the Sheriff ducked his head, taking Chris' cock in his mouth.

It wasn't a night of love, it was barely even lust, but it was loneliness coming together for a moment, just a fucking _moment_ of forgetting. And remembering that it didn't always have to be like this.

It blurred together, only the way sex can when you try to remember it the next day, but Chris liked the feel of hair in his hand and lips on his thigh. He liked the taste of his own come on the Sheriff's tongue and he liked wrapping his fingers around the Sheriff's heavy dick and the look on his face as he came, like it was some kind of miracle of pleasure.

They were hot under the blankets, sticky and sweaty. Their hands roamed freely as they didn't speak, except for, _I like that_ and _Do that again_. They moaned and gasped and kissed because there wasn't anything else to say.

There was nothing like the chill of sweat drying on your skin.

Chris wasn't sure if he was supposed to leave now. The Sheriff was asleep and he had no idea what time Stiles was going to be home. He didn't know what staying the night might imply, but there was no way of knowing what the correct answer was. There hadn't been a place to ask the questions. He wasn't used to not knowing what to do, because he always knew what to do.

He thought about his shoes, somewhere in the hallway, and his jeans on the floor and it all seemed like too much work to find them and put them on, not when he could stay and sleep. He pulled the blanket up over his cold, bare shoulder and curled against the Sheriff's naked body, resting a hand on his hip.

It was nice to not be alone.

And in the morning, when Chris was searching for his shirt, and the Sheriff was locating Chris' other boot, he could remember all the details again. They were crisp after a cup of coffee and quiet smiles. The words that were spoken, the sound of cold butter being scraped onto toast, and when the front door opened and closed. Chris looked up just as Sheriff said, "Here it is. It was under the--"

Stiles, just inside the door, stared at them both. There might have been blood on his shirt, but it was under a thick layer of dirt that covered him from head to toe.

"Stiles," the Sheriff started, but Stiles held up a hand to silence him.

"How about you don't ask me about my night and I won't ask you about yours and we'll never mention this to each other, or say, Allison, and we'll all be okay with that, okay?"

The Sheriff didn't reply to the question, but instead asked, "Is that blood?"

Stiles blinked at him. "What? Oh this?" He pinched his shirt and pulled it away from his chest and released it. "Not mine, it's fine. I'm going to take a shower." He walked between then and nodded up as Chris as he passed. "Mr. Argent."

"Stiles," Chris replied. He looked over at the Sheriff and they weren't just lonely men anymore. They were parents who had to go back to their real lives. And their real lives involved their kids covered in dirt and blood, and they had to deal with that. "You're going to ask him about that, right?"

"Oh, yeah." The Sheriff handed Chris his boot. "And last night... I'm okay with questions. It's not like we did something wrong. It might just be uncomfortable to talk about."

Chris nodded, and then hesitated before he kissed the Sheriff in that place between cheek and mouth. "It's not like it'd be the first time uncomfortable questions ever happened."

He put on his shirt and his boots and drove home, preparing for his own dirt covered kid and the questions that would follow.


End file.
